Letters
by Dark Chaos X
Summary: "Good morning, class! Today you're going to write love letters to someone in this room!" / AU, Human names used. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Important author note at the bottom of the page!**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. *sighs* This disclaimer applies with the other chapters of this story.

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><p>Many of the students of Snowy Hills High wondered why the school even bothered having so many language teachers, considering that most of the student body knows many of their classmate's native tongue. But most students wonder <em>why<em> the school hired an English teacher that acts like a child.

Everyday the teacher, Mr. English (who swore his name had _nothing_ to do with his career choice at all), skipped, jumped through a, thankfully open, window, or did many other... odd things when entering his classroom. The students quickly got used to their teacher's actions; some of them even went as far as doing the same thing.

But one day the teacher _walked_ into the classroom, a stack of papers in hand, and a big grin on his face. Some of the smarter students paled or sighed loudly, knowing something stupid was going to happen.

"Good morning, class!" Mr. English chirped, letting the stack of papers slam onto the desk with a _thud_. The students mumbled their greetings, along with a soft _Ve~ _from one of the students. "Today you're going to write love letters to someone in this room!"

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><p><strong>AN:** Yes, this part is _extremely _short, and I'm sorry for that, but I don't want to repeat this in the other chapters. DX Anyways, all of these "chapters" will be the the Hetalia gang writing letters to each other, some not writing letters at all, or whatever I think of in my free time. Also, none of the chapters come after or before the other chapters, they're mostly ideas I thought of. (Or any reviewers thought of. *wink wink**nudge nudge*)  
>And for the school's name, I didn't want to put "Hetalia High", so I asked my sister and she said "Snowy Hills High". ^^<p> 


	2. Antonio and Lovino

**A/N:** And this is one example why this is rated T: for Romano's potty mouth. XD I guess you could see this as Spain/Romano, but I wasn't really thinking of the pairing while writing this. ...The letters looked longer on paper though.  
>And the reason why I didn't upload this one earlier (I had it done before I even posted the prologue), is that I'm writing about three or four chapters ahead. So if I'm not writing something for over a month or so, I have something to post. ^^<p>

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><p>Lovino frowned — no scowled. How dare this idiot of a teacher tell him to write a — Lovino gagged — <em>love<em> letter! Who does he think he is? King of the world?

The Italian scowled, if humanly possible, deeper as the teacher continued giving instructions.

"But if you don't _want_ to write a love letter, there's always the option of writing a hate letter!" Lovino smirked at this. Maybe this idiot of a teacher was finally gaining some common sense. "But try not to use that many swear words; we're still going to give them to whoever you're writing to!" Scratch that. The Italian's scowl returned. _Teacher bastard._

As his brother Feliciano passed out paper to the class — with that damn smile of his, Lovino noted — the older Italian thought about who he should write his hate letter to. (There was no way in hell he was going to write a _love _letter, of all things.)

Should he write about the hamburger bastard? The potato bastard? The _other_ potato bastard?

No, he knew who he was going to write to. In fact, he could just _feel_ the tomato bastard smiling at him in his stupid way. He sent a quick glare to Antonio, who was, indeed, smiling, before scribbling away on the sheet of paper he received.

.

_Dear tomato bastard,_

_ I hate you._

_ I hate that you can't get this simple sentence into your thick skull. I say this about one hundred times a fucking day, and you _still_ won't learn to back the hell off!_

_ I hate that you wait for me and my brother at the bus stop. You don't even _live _anywhere near me! What the hell? Do you enjoy walking two fucking kilometers away from your house?_

_ And that fucking smile of yours! Why. Do. You. Fucking. Smile. All. The. Time? It's plain annoying! Do you have a fucking disorder, bastard?_

_ If so, that doesn't explain why you call me Lovi! It's Lovino, not Lovi! Lovi_no_. L-O-V-I-_N-O_! It's not hard to add a N-O to the end of Lovi, bastard._

_ I hate you,_

_ Lovino_

.

Lovino set the pencil down, pleased with his letter. Ten swear words was an improvement, seeing as he swears worse than a sailor, even in a good mood. (If you consider three swear words per sentence a good mood.)

"Oh, Lovi~! I have something for you~!" the Spaniard known as Antonio, or tomato bastard, wrapped an arm around Lovino's neck, flailing a piece of paper in the Italian's face.

"Get the fuck off of me, bastard!" Lovino growled, shoving a yellow clad arm back over his shoulder. "And quit flinging that shit in my face!"

"But Lovi —" a glare "— I wrote you a letter with my sweat, blood and tears! Did you write me one? Or did you write one to Feli? I mean, I don't mind if you did—"

"If I read your fucking letter and give you mine, will you leave me the hell alone?" Lovino interrupted.

Taking the large grin as a yes, the Italian took the letter from Antonio's outstretched arms.

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_Dear Lovi~_

_ Since you hate that anybody (or is it just me?) who says the L word to you, I will not write you a lov — ah, sorry~! Anyways, I'm writing you a _like_ letter! It's totally different, _sí_?_

_ I like that you love tomatoes~! When you told me that you liked tomatoes when we first met I was so happy! I had finally found somebody who loves tomatoes as much as I do! The same thing goes for _siestas_, too!_

_ I also like when you grumble (you always seem to say "Chigii" under your breath) and blush when I give you tomatoes~! The first time I gave you one you were so cute! You looked just like a __tomato~! And you still do, _mi tomate_!_

_ I can write more, but I'm running out of time and I want to give this to you~!_

De todo Corazón_,_

_Antonio_

_PS- I bet you look like a tomato after reading this~!_

._  
><em>

Lovino gaped at the letter, heat rising to his cheeks. _The tomato bastard wrote _this_?_ The Italian glared at Antonio, who looked like he was waiting for Lovino to finish reading before reading the letter addressed to him.

"T-The hell? What's with you, writing shit like this?" Lovino stuttered, unconsciously leaning away from the Spaniard.

"But Lovino, it was an assignment."

Said person blinked. The tomato bastard finally said his name correctly? Lovino could hardly believe this. Did he hit his head or something?

"And besides, I meant every word," Antonio leaned forward, a knowing smile on his face. "_Te amo demasiado_, Lovi."


	3. Matthew and Alfred

**A/N:** Hm, it seems like its been too long since the last time I updated... Well anyway, I wrote this in a different manner, since I wanted to show you Alfred's reactions.

Truth be told, I had difficulties writing this one, since I wanted to make it in character and I still had my fail!hate letter that I wrote to my older sister (that she didn't read, even though I apologized for it and received a confused look in turn - it was an assignment for English class and only the teacher read it) in my head. ^^;

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><p><em>L-Love letter?<em> Matthew thought, wishing he had brought his stuffed bear, Kumajiro, with him to school. (Even though he was being teased by bringing a stuffed animal to school by his brother Alfred.) The bear would have at least comforted him in this situation.

The Canadian had no love life, if you don't count his love of syrup and ice hockey, so this assignment would go downhill, he just knew it.

"But," the teacher drew him out of his internal worrying, "if you don't _want_ to write a love letter, there's always the option of writing a hate letter! But try not to use that many swear words; we're still going to give them to whoever you're writing to!"

In between wishing for Kumajiro and getting a piece of paper (he had to remind Feliciano to give him a paper, who responded with a "Ve~ I'm sorry, Matthew. I didn't see you.") Matthew thought about what he should write.

Writing a love letter was out of the question, so he decided to write a hate letter.

The only problem was that he didn't hate anybody enough to write a hate letter to. He sighed. _I might as well get a _F_ on this assignment..._

A single laugh, that Matthew could only describe as _annoying _(seeing that he had heard it far too much in his lifetime already), decided who he should write to.

After writing his letter, which took most of the class period even though the letter itself was short, the Canadian sighed. He felt better, his feelings had been placed on paper (which he hoped that Alfred _finally_ got the message by doing this, since the last time he tried, his brother's chainsaw drowned him out).

He shifted in his chair so he faced his brother, who was sitting right beside him (that adds to the confusion of everybody thinking that the Canadian was Alfred). "A-Alfred," Matthew said, though his voice was hardly a whisper.

Alfred spun on his chair (since when did he get a spin chair?) to face his brother, abruptly concluding the conversation he had with Arthur. "'Sup?"

Matthew flinched at the loudness. They were in a building, for heaven's sakes! "I wrote you a letter..."

His twin brightened up like it was Christmas morning. "Really? For me? Aw, you shouldn't have, Mattie!" He quickly, and quite forcefully, ripped it from the Canadian's hands. "I didn't write anything for you, though."

"Oh, that's okay," Matthew said, not surprised at all. This was to be expected of Alfred, after all.

"_Dear Alfred,_" Alfred started to read. Out loud. "_As your twin brother, I could never truly _hate_ you, but you're so annoying!_"

The American gave his brother a confused look. Matthew motioned him to continue reading. Alfred pushed up his glasses, Texas, he called him, to read better.

"_Why do you laugh _all the time_? I swear I can hear it when we're both in our rooms. And our rooms isn't even on the same side of the house!_

"_And-and why does everybody mistake me for you? I mean, I kind of understand that people mistake us for each other because we're twins, but _everybody_ (other than Gilbert) mistakes me for you! I hate that! Do you know how many times I got beat up because I was mistaken for you? _A lot_!_"

The last sentence sounded like a question more than a statement. _When did this happen?_ Was all Alfred allowed himself to think before he continued reading.

"_And why do you steal Kumajiro? You _know_ that I can't live without him! You know that! He's one of the very few friends I have! (Well, other than you, but that's not the point. We're brothers, we _have_ to be friends.)_

"_Also, stop making fun of me by mimicking me saying "eh"!_"

A small snicker was made at this, though it was out of habit.

"_It's not my fault that I lived in Canada half of my life! Your brother, Matthew._"

The brothers fell into a surprising, in Alfred's case, silence. The classroom echoed with enraged yells, for those whose letter upset them, and the typical chatter whenever the teacher finished talking.

"So, you really mean all of this?" Alfred gestured towards the letter with a hand.

"Of course!" Matthew sighed. "But you never hear it whenever I tried to tell you before! Something always blocks me out, or you're not even listening! I thought this way would actually work, since I'm not saying a thing."

"Ah," the American said, rolling the paper up awkwardly. "Well, I guess I could _try_ to stop being annoying. You know, me being a hero and all."

"That's all I'm asking," the younger of the twins replied.

Alfred nodded enthusiastically. "How about we play some baseball whenever we get home, then? You know, as an apology."

Matthew mentally sweat dropped, even though he knew that his brother meant well on his offer. "S-Sure," he agreed warily.


	4. Gilbert

**A/N: **Another installment of _Letters_! I've decided to put this as "always complete", since I'm busy with school and I don't know when I can update. *cough* Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! I would also appreciate it if you guys told me what you think about this chapter. (And thinks to everyone who reviewed already!)

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><p>Gilbert woke up from either two things: The paper placed on top his head cut off his air supply off, or the gruff "Just place it on his head, Feliciano!" that he suspected his younger brother Ludwig barked. Gilbert went with the latter.<p>

"The _fuck_, Ludwig!" he growled, slamming a fist on the old school desk and sat up to glare at the younger blond, causing his piece of paper to sail to the ground. "Waking me up for school itself, I can understand, but waking me up _at_ school, that's so not awesome!"

"We have an assignment. I just thought that you wouldn't want to fail English class," his brother responded.

"Pfft, like I care about school—"

"—And have Gilbird taken away from you," Ludwig interrupted, not looking away from his task.

Gilbert gasped, appalled at his brother. Did he have no shame? Only the Devil himself would have made that statement! (The albino made a mental note to talk to Arthur about this, since the Englishman most likely knew more about black magic and junk.) He could just _picture_ Blackie, or maybe Berlitz or Aster, he doesn't really care _which_ one of his brother's dogs does it, gnawing on his poor yellow bird.

"You wouldn't," the Prussian said, carefully holding the small bird to his heart. Gilbird chirped softly, flapping his wings, and Gilbert whispered comfortingly to him.

"I will if you don't put something on that piece of paper."

"Fine! Just tell me what I'm supposed to fucking do," Gilbert grumbled, violently picking his paper off of the ground and slamming a mechanical pencil on the desk.

"_Ve~_ We're supposed to write love letters!" the youngest of the Vargas brothers chirped.

"Love letters?" the Prussian raised his lip up to a snarl, disgusted. "There's no way in hell I would write something like that! The awesome me _receives_ love letters, I don't write them."

"Well you better write at least _something_ on there," Ludwig mumbled and then preceded to tell Feliciano to _sit down_.

Gilbert scoffed at himself. He knew that he wasn't going to write any letters, since nobody is as awesome as him and therefore does not deserve one.

He decided to do something more practical.

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><p>After five seconds of removing Gilbird from his head and onto the desk, five minutes of keeping the bird still (which was a hard task, since Gilbird was almost as awesome as him and wouldn't stay still) and fifteen minutes of scribbling on his paper, Gilbert laid his pencil down with a large grin.<p>

"See how awesome you are?" He asked the bird, holding the paper up for Gilbird to see. His only response was his pet flying back onto his head, which he took as an "awesome".

He turned around in his seat to face his brother. "See? I wrote something, _Bruder_!"

Ludwig scanned the paper and frowned. "When I said to write something, I didn't mean a drawing of Gilbird. I meant words—"

"My name is on there, isn't it?" the Prussian interrupted.

Ludwig once again scanned the paper, sighing at his brother's signature. _Gilbert the Awesome_, it said.

"Fine, but next time, you're doing the assignment or Gilbird will be taken away from you."

"Of course, _Bruder_! What do you take me for?"

Gilbert then preceded to head to Elizabeta to show her his masterpiece.


	5. Alfred and Arthur

**A/N: **After a couple months, a new chapter is up! (Sorry about that, I was busy with schoolwork.) Anyway, this chapter goes to **Jazzcat1231** for suggesting USUK. If anybody has any suggestions for any new chapters, just put it in a review and I might write it! (Though it might take a while…) Anyways, enjoy!

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><p>Alfred glanced quickly back-and-forth from the door and the windows, occasionally glancing at the ceiling. He, along with a certain few, has been anxiously waiting for Mr. English. Ever since the first day of school, when the English teacher literally kicked down the classroom door, Alfred was awestruck to know that a teacher was just as crazy as a five-year-old on a sugar rush.<p>

So when the purported cool teacher walked into the room, Alfred was a tad bit dejected. With a huff, he slouched in his seat, resting his chin on his hand. He knew some boring was on the teacher's schedule, but when Mr. English informed the class the assignment he couldn't help but glance at a certain Englishman.

Sure, he talks all sophisticated when he's not angry and he does spell things like "color" and "aluminum" wrong – everybody knows it's spelled with one_ I_, Arthur; no matter what it says in your British dictionary – but the American can't help but feel… something for his bushy-browed friend.

But that doesn't mean he's going to write a letter telling how much he likes them. Alfred laughs when Arthur yelled at him for staring. He's got a do it in a much cooler way.

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><p>Arthur sighed internally as Mr. English moved towards the back of the classroom to break up the small scuffle between Gilbert and Elizabeta, frowning at the nearly clean sheet of paper in front of him. It was unlikely that he didn't finish an English assignment, but he couldn't just<em> finish<em> the insufferable task.

He carefully folded the paper up and stuffed it in his pocket before gathering his books. It wasn't like he was going to give it to anyone anyway.

"Hey, Arty!"

The Englishman's eyes narrowed as he turned towards his offender. "The last bloody time, it's Art-"

Arthur's eyes widened as an unaccustomed pressure on his lips appeared for second or two. He sputtered and leaned away from the lip's owner. Alfred smiled happily as he drew back, knowing that the smaller blond one be going anywhere as he barred him with his arms – one on his chair and the other on the desk.

Alfred's visage suddenly looked nervous as he watched Arthur regain mental mobility, realizing that he hadn't planned anything_ after_ kissing Arthur.

"What," Arthur drawled, an annoyed look on his face, "in the bloody hell was that for?"

Alfred looked to the side, as if the wave of shyness hit him. He drummed his fingers on the desk. "That was an apology for not writing you a love letter," he muttered.

Arthur gaped at the taller teen. Not only could he not believe that Alfred F. Jones_ kissed_ him, he couldn't believe the reason of _why_ he kissed him. The folded up paper burned in his pocket as he stared at Alfred, as if it was reminding him of its existence, and his brows came together as he mustered up the courage to do his next action.

"You're a bloody idiot," Arthur mumbled, yanking Alfred's tie down towards him and pressing his lips to the American's.

The folded up piece of paper fell out of Arthur's pocket and landed on the floor in a way that allowed one to see the words written upon it.

**Git.**

_I love you._


End file.
